


Don't You Worry

by Val_Creative



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Dad Lee Scoresby, Daemons, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Lyra's World (His Dark Materials), Past Torture, Snow and Ice, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Lee and Lyra have a lot more in common than they think.
Relationships: Lee Scoresby & Hester, Lyra Belacqua & Lee Scoresby
Comments: 15
Kudos: 159





	Don't You Worry

*

Not for nothing but Lee thinks himself a rather decent aeronaut while in extreme conditions.

They're traveling through mist and snow-thick air, lifting away from civilization and surrounded by the translucent incandescence of the Aurora wreathing them. Blazing-brilliant with colour more magnificence than Lee ever imagined was possible. He's sure in the white glare of anbaric bulbs they would be faded — but Lee's hot-air balloon illuminates itself in pillars of soft yellow lantern.

He checks his instruments from time to time, walking around the leatherbound rim of the enormous wicker-and-wood basket, mindful to not knock his toes into the loose bottles of air scattered from their hurry. Lee wants Roger and Lyra out of the clutches of Bolvangar before they all regrouped. Or find a way to shoot down his balloon. On the far-end, Iorek restlessly shifts in his bear-armour, falling in and out of sleep, gazing trough the cloth-flaps to the darkened, icy crags as they hover by.

"You should bundle up," Hester murmurs, huddling in a pile of furs. "Or you'll turn into an icicle."

Lee hums thoughtfully to her, nibbling on the cigar from his pocket. He wouldn't light it so foolishly near this hydrogen. "Wouldn'nya be a sight, for certain," he proclaims, rumbling out a deep, low laugh. Hester's ears sag as she groans.

He does listen, plopping himself down and wrapping himself in skins of northern grey wolf, and the insulating fur of caribou.

Within an hour, Lee wakes himself, stirring upon the feeling of his balloon swinging hard. Hot-air balloons have none of the streamlined smoothness of a zeppelin while in flight. It's mainly to do with the gas bag powering them. He rocks into the wicker-basket corner, stumbling for balance. Down below, it's all a tumble of white, chasming sea. Vaporous and almost like solid ice.

"Is everything alright?" Lyra's voice drifts in.

He glances around to her, drowsy and faintly curious, poking her head out. Dark strings of Lyra's hair crusted with frost. She's so young. It makes Lee's heart ache with a sense of unfamiliar worry. He tips his hat, forcing a wide, pleasant grin.

"Sure is, darlin'. Now don't you worry. Get some rest."

A coil of rope winds through a leather-covered iron ring, as Lee moves across the available space of the balloon-basket, making sure all of his philosophical instruments were securely lashed to the main struts. It's almost ten thousand feet up when Lee glances to his altimeter. As soon as the weather dropped in the negatives, he had unrolled a long canvas sheet Lee used for emergency bivouac, sheltering Roger and Lyra from the winds as they were fast asleep and clutching onto each other.

Lee turns and sees Lyra still awake, clasping her symbol-reader in her lap. Its gold-edging glinting.

The only thing she's never afraid of making mistakes for is this. Finding the answers in her symbol-reader. Lee would watch her in pure enthrallment while they camped with the gyptians, driven into a stunned silence that even Hester felt baffled by.

No matter how many times Lyra does her symbol-reading, whether on a sledge or while walking, Lee always stops what he's doing to watch. Lyra's natural ability and concentration is something _otherworldly_. He could never do what she does. It's not envy, but a strong, warm regard of pride towards Lyra. She may not be his blood, but Lee will gladly take her under his wing.

"Whatcha askin'?"

"I want to know where Mrs. Coulter is," Lyra murmurs, breathless and sounding so distant as she emerges from the haze. Pantalaimon squirms around as a snow-white ermine, warming himself to Lyra's neck. He's a visible, living lump in her coat.

Lee shakes his head, noticing her brooding disdain. He reaches for Lyra's shoulder.

"I'm sure she—"

As soon as his brown-leather gloved fingers touch her, Lyra flinches, lurching backwards and shutting her eyes tightly. Pantalaimon lets out a frightened hiss. Hester grows more alert, her bright gold eyes going round, staring at Lee's back

"Hey, _hey_ ," Lee consoles the young girl. He doesn't try to touch her again, squatting down. "S'alright. I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to get you all panicked, Lyra. You're not hurt, are ya?" After a moment, Lyra shakes her head and the relief hits Lee like a blow of arctic water. "Good," he mumbles, narrowing his dark eyes. "Thss'good. Pardon me for bringin' it up, but I would mighty appreciate it if you told me if somethin' was the matter. Them Gobblers took you to the Station—"

"They touched Pan," Lyra blurts out. Tears shimmer in her own dark eyes.

It feels like every nerve suddenly breaks and flares inside him. An horrible, hot splinter of memory. Lee stares dazedly.

"… … what?"

"They wanted to separate us. A man touched Pan and I could _feel_ …" Lyra's quivering mouth opens, her exhale ragged and reverberating a sob. She can't say it. Describe it. Manifest it back into life. Lee would give anything for her to stop. "I felt _wrong_ … he was touching inside me… they dragged us and caged us and wanted to kill us. I wish… I think I wish they had…"

Lee can feel Hester shudder from his own rage and disorientation. She wants to go to him.

He takes a moment to compose himself, sitting beside Lyra, dropping his head to the wicker, listening to the young girl's sniffles.

"You don't die. Not ever," Lee swears quietly. "Not as long as I draw breath, ya hear?"

She says nothing, but he knows Lyra can hear him.

"I was a little older than you and first met Iorek over here. Got myself into a gunfight. Shot a man. A coward. He grabbed Hester while choking on his own blood." Hester shudders again, whimpering, hopping over into Lee's hands and nuzzling him. Steadying him. A glisten of moisture runs down Lee's jaw. "Felt like I couldn' breathe. Couldn' _think_. I just want'en to kill him."

"Did you…?"

He gulps, wiping off his face and seeing those tears of despair on Lyra's cheeks. "Yes," Lee admits in soft sternness. "What you've been though… what I did… it's a kind'of evil nobody can imagine until s'too late. I'm sorry I wasn' there."

Lyra's expression crumples. She sobs and half-crawls from her furs, hugging Lee as he rocks them.

_"I'm sorry…"_

Lee's voice carries away, where the moon goes high and plates everything in silver. Billowing into the roiling, thinning clouds.

Some day, he will be _carried away_ too, lapsing out of this world.

Like a proper aeronaut.

*


End file.
